Chapter Text
"'m definitely too heavy," Shane mumbles, with that particular intonation in his voice that suggests that he's hoping that Ilya is about to make him do something that he's only pretending he doesn't want to do. "I'll, you know."
"What?" Ilya grins at him, showing every one of his gleaming teeth.
"I'll crush you," Shane says.
"Then I will die a very happy man." He snakes his hands around Shane's waist and yanks him forward so that his pelvis, and his rock-hard cock, are flush against Ilya's. Ilya uses this opportunity to shamelessly grope Shane's ass, feeling the firmness of the muscle, and yet the way Shane's body yields under his hands. "You will like it."
"Of course I'll like it. I'm worried about you."
"Oh, you like it when I eat your ass, Hollander?"
"Shut up." Shane tries to pull back. Not very hard.
Ilya keeps his grip on Shane's ass, letting his fingers tease at the cleft, finding what he wants. The light brush of Ilya's fingertips over his hole makes Shane gasp and thrust forward, even through his pants and boxers. He kisses Shane while he feels him up, until Shane is leaning into him instead of pretending he wants to pull away, until his desire once again overcomes his shyness. It doesn't take very long. It never does.
Once Shane is gasping into Ilya's mouth, Ilya lets himself fall back onto the bed. He pulls Shane along with him, using his hands to guide Shane so he's almost in place, and then tugs his pants down around his knees.
"Come on," Ilya orders roughly. "Off."
Shane is done playing at not wanting it. He kicks his pants and underwear off, leaving him completely exposed. He's hard and dripping already. Ilya licks his lips, thinking about taking that delicious cock into his mouth instead--but no, it'll be even better this way. He's fairly sure Shane prefers it, and Ilya likes whatever makes Shane feel squirmy and uncomfortable and unsure like this. Especially if that thing means that once Shane has come like this, with Ilya's tongue and mouth on him, Ilya can throw him down onto the bed and fuck him through the overstimulation.
"Good," Ilya says, and wraps his hands around Shane's ass again. Now he can feel the skin, too, so soft over all that hard muscle. "Come here."
Shane is awkward at first, tentatively trying to hover over Ilya's face. He's strong, those enormous thighs could hold him right there for a long time, but that's not what Ilya wants.
He grabs Shane's hands and manhandles them onto his ass. "Hold yourself open for me."
"Fuck." Shane ducks his head, obviously embarrassed, but he does it.
Ilya rewards him with a terse, "Good." Then he grabs Shane's hips around the front, hands flat against those huge quads, and pushes Shane down. Hard enough that he actually loses his balance and falls into Ilya.
His little sound of irritation is almost immediately lost in the chorus of moans that emerge as Ilya finally gets his mouth on him.
"Fuck, Rozy," he gasps, and starts to move, grinding mindlessly against Ilya's face, his open mouth and outstretched tongue. "Oh, fuck."
The only disadvantage of this position is that Ilya can't say something sly and teasing to him. The advantage is that he's pinned here, smothered and surrounded by Shane, smelling and tasting him everywhere, and feeling as Shane loses his composure, his care, everything, against the pleasure that he's never let anyone but Ilya ever bring him.
Nothing has ever been so delicious.